


The Waxing Moon

by 13Monkton



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Inspired by "Over Fathoms Deep" by bittergreens., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 02:17:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10732107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13Monkton/pseuds/13Monkton
Summary: Sherlock and John approach a new method of making love...





	The Waxing Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Over Fathoms Deep](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1744148) by [bittergreens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittergreens/pseuds/bittergreens). 



John and Sherlock sat quietly in their semi-private corner. No one was nearby; they were alone together. Sherlock squirmed restlessly.  
“Something on your mind, sweetheart?” John asked.  
“Well, yes…I’ve heard some things…some things I’m not sure about…not sure I quite believe…”  
“Sea monsters?”  
Sherlock scoffed. “No, John. Not sea monsters.” A pause.  
“Well, what, then?”  
Another pause. Then, in a low voice, “I’m embarrassed to say.”  
“You can talk to me about anything, you know.”  
Then, in a rush, “I’ve heard people talking. Other passengers, the men-the crew. They whisper and laugh..about..about men together. Two men together and what they do.”  
“What do they say?”  
“They talk about…joke about… um, it doesn’t seem possible, but…”  
“Go on.”  
“One man putting his…his cock in another man’s arse. John! It sounds terrible! How can they even joke about it? Where do they come up with these ideas?”  
John was silent, beginning to flush. Sherlock turned to him, saw the blush, and a terrible dawning realization came over him. “Really? Really, John? How..why…?”  
John mumbled, “It’s not so terrible.”  
Sherlock was shocked into an affronted silence. He never guessed that John, his golden John, would ever be associated with an idea he found distasteful. John turned to him and grasped his hands.  
“Please, don’t slip away from me. Please listen. Don’t be offended. Can I talk to you about this?”  
Seeing John’s pleading eyes, Sherlock subsided. “Go ahead. I’m listening.” He mentally crossed his arms as his hands stayed in John’s grasp.  
“You know the things we do together? The kissing? The touching? All the ways we make love?”  
Sherlock mentally uncrossed his arms as warmth surged through him at John’s words. “Yes...yes, John.”  
“Well, you know how we have to be so careful, and so quiet when we’re together? So no one will hear us and find out what we’re doing?”  
“Yes, John.”  
“What we do together…when we make love together…that’s not so terrible, is it?”  
“Of course not!” Sherlock gasped.  
“Some-most-people would think it’s terrible. Most people would never understand how beautiful it is when we are together. They would only be able to make dirty, shameful, embarrassed jokes, at the very least. Right?” Another pause.  
“You’re right, John.”  
John sighed. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is…don’t be like those other people. Don’t judge what you don’t know.”  
“Do you know, John?” Sherlock asked in a low voice.  
John sighed again. “Yes, I know. Please don’t be upset, Sherlock. Please don’t think any less of me.”  
Sherlock took a deep breath. “John. I could never do anything but think everything of you.”  
They sat quietly for a moment. Sherlock turned to John.  
“Tell me about it. Explain. Please, John. I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I will listen.”  
John drew a deep breath. “Um, well…preparation. Yes. Preparation is key.”  
“What kind of preparation?”  
“Different kinds. Um.”  
“John. You’re not embarrassed now, are you?”  
“Nooo…I just don’t really know where to start.”  
“I can fix that. Start by telling me how you avoid…uh…”  
Their eyes met and John and Sherlock burst into giggles. “It’s okay,” John chuckled. “It’s okay to laugh about..lovemaking. Lovemaking is fun and funny and sometimes silly and sometimes ridiculous. Okay. Not to put too fine a point on it, but it’s good to visit the loo, then the washbasin, before you…engage in any activities.”  
“Oh,” Sherlock said, wide-eyed. “Doesn’t it ever…?”  
“Sweetheart, that’s the least of our concerns. Really. Trust me on this. Just, clean up a bit first and you’ll be fine. It’s all fine.”  
“Yes, John, “Sherlock said. “Then you just…put it in? Doesn’t it hurt terribly?” Sherlock shifted uneasily. “I can’t imagine how-”  
“You said you’d listen. Now, listen. Okay?” Sherlock quieted and bowed his head. Their hands remained clasped. “So. Preparation. This is the most important part. Think of a muscle, taut and tight, that softens and loosens under a good massage. Think of how relaxed you feel after a good rubdown.” John’s voice roughened. “Soft, relaxed, open to…pleasure.” Sherlock exhaled. “That’s what it is, after all. The opening to your body. A muscle. A muscle that needs to be soothed, and loved, and cherished, until it opens up to trust and pleasure. A rose, blooming, opening up, under my hands. You see?”  
“I see, John.”  
“You are my rose, and I want to make you bloom, make you drop your petals in the waves of passion. Think of the waxing moon. You are my moon, and I want to make you… full.” Sherlock gulped, hypnotized by John’s words, erotic images rising in his mind. “I’ll bring an urn of sweet, warm oil to smooth the way inside you. I’ll be slow, I’ll be gentle, and I’ll kiss your luscious…mouth the whole time.”  
“Your fingers?” Sherlock whispered. “You’ll use your fingers?”  
“First my fingers, inside you. And then when you’re ready, beyond ready, I’ll make love to you with my whole body. I’ll ease myself inside you, and you will love it.”  
“It won’t hurt?”  
“I promise, my love, it won’t hurt. It will never hurt. I’ll never hurt you.”  
Sherlock thought of the ring of treasured bruises on his neck and shuddered with longing. He said hesitantly, “Maybe, if I said it was okay, you could make it hurt a little bit? Just a little bit, for a little while?”  
“Oh, my god, Sherlock-don’t say those things to me! Please, say those things to me!” John dropped his head in his hands and groaned. “I’ll plunder your mouth, I’ll bite your neck, but I don’t want to hurt you there. Not there.” (“Not yet, not…much,” John thought to himself.)  
“It must be a pretty special, delicate place, for you to be so concerned about not hurting me there,” Sherlock said, a trace of apprehension stealing back into his voice.  
“It is, my love, it is,” John replied softly, mesmerized by the images in his mind.

Sherlock waited quietly in his room for John, recommended “preparations” completed. He was nervous. He was actually quite apprehensive, truth be told. He tried to rid himself of anxiety by focusing on the anticipation that John’s words evoked in him earlier that day, but his mind insisted on replaying his initial reaction of fear and aversion.  
When John tapped quietly on the door, Sherlock was trembling visibly. He opened the door a crack. Clutching his urn of “sweet, warm oil,” John peered inside.  
“Sherlock! What’s wrong?” John whispered, his loving expression turning to one of loving concern. “Are you okay? Can I come in?”  
Sherlock opened the door wider, just enough for John to slip into the candlelit room. Sherlock shut the door, then turned towards his lover with a mournful expression.  
“I don’t know if I can do this, John. I’m so afraid, so…”  
“Sweetheart!” John gasped. “We surely don’t have to do this if you don’t want.”  
Sherlock broke in-“I know, I do. I want to and I don’t want to. I don’t know why I’m afraid.”  
“I think I do.” John said slowly. “You’ve had time to think about this. You like to understand how everything works. You want to know every possible permutation of a situation before you engage. You don’t want to wonder. You want to see, to observe.” He took a deep breath. “Okay. That’s it, then.”  
“No, no, please,” Sherlock cried. “I’ll do it! I’ll do anything you want! I’m not afraid after all! See?” He held out a trembling hand, trying his best to keep it still.  
“My love,” John said, reaching for the trembling hand and bringing it to rest over his heart. “My love, you misunderstand. I’ve rushed you. I haven’t taken care of you properly.”  
Yes,” Sherlock breathed, eyes closed. “You’ll be gentle. You’ll be slow. You won’t hurt me when you enter me.”  
“No, no, my love,” John whispered. “You won’t hurt me.”

They lay entangled on the bed, naked, kissing. Clothes lay on the floor, lay folded over the chair. The tracings on the silver urn at the bedside caught the flickering candlelight in a silver-gold glow.  
“Just like us, “Sherlock thought dreamily.


End file.
